


For Never Was There a Story of More Woe [Than This of Tybalt and his Mercutio]

by Ambrose



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mentions of homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:58:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6788770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrose/pseuds/Ambrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the prompt: "Why Rosa was the one who insisted that their child would be called Mercutio and why Benvolio actually thinks that's a good idea."</p>
<p>(cross-posting from tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Never Was There a Story of More Woe [Than This of Tybalt and his Mercutio]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SosearchingRomeo (Breakingthestandards)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakingthestandards/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [一个悲剧，关乎Mercutio与Tybalt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8856544) by [shadowoftheday654321](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowoftheday654321/pseuds/shadowoftheday654321)



Benvolio didn’t know, of course. It made sense, now, even though she’d have thought Mercutio would have told him. But he was always the most private, under his exuberant exterior. Not that Tybalt was much more expressive, he just had a trusted few in whom he confided, and she was lucky to be one of those. She’d always had this bond with her brother, and she missed him dearly.

Still, She’d have assumed Mercutio would have told his best friend and partner in crime.

In the years she and Benvolio had gotten to know each other, at first through memories of their loved ones then gradually more personally, they had always avoided Mercutio’s and Tybalt’s relationship, it being the sore spot, at the centre of it all, what started this tragedy that made them lose everyone they held dear. And so Rosaline had always assumed he knew.

But then, a couple years after they had finally gotten married, she had gotten pregnant, and after much rejoicing at the news, they had had to make decisions about the name.

If it were a girl, of course, she would be called Juliet, there was no hesitation there. But Benvolio seemed surprised when she suggested that, if they had a little boy, he should be called Mercutio.

Maybe it was because she was so adamant, since Benvolio was not against the idea, on the contrary. He felt just awkward that she was the one to suggest it so vehemently. As if she wanted to oblige him, as if she thought calling their first girl Juliet was too much _for her_ and wanted to compensate by giving their baby boy the name of his dearest friend.

But there had never been such a thing between them, they did not fight, and they certainly did not care about how Benvolio was supposed to be her Lord and Master, and she a humble servant. She had the Capulet fortune, after all, while Benvolio had the Montagues’, and they had agreed from the start that she managed her own as she saw fit. It had created enough of a fuss, and they’d laugh that they would have such a tale to tell of their wedding when they grew old and grey and had grandchildren to entertain around the fireplace.

“Well, since my cousin Valentio thought I would never get married, let alone pregnant, and called his own baby boy Tybalt in honour of my brother, I thought it would be nice to honour Mercutio’s memory instead,” she explained, not certain why it surprised him so much. “I barely knew him, but I know how much he meant to you, and to Tybalt, so…”

Benvolio stared blankly at her.

“… Tybalt?” he finally asked after a long moment of silence. That’s when Rosaline realised she had assumed wrongly.

Of course there was not much she could tell Benvolio. Even if her brother trusted her, and confided in her, he was still very private in matters of the heart, and this was not a subject anyone could talk about lightly.

But she knew enough. She knew that they loved each other. She knew that they were probably the only ones to really understand each other – she was afraid Benvolio would take it badly, but he knew there was a depth to Mercutio, a darkness even he couldn’t reach, and he understood that he might have found comfort in Tybalt.

She knew about the teasing fights, the pretend, the pain, and Benvolio wished his friend had trusted him enough, or that himself would have paid better attention when Mercutio expressed his feelings, but an emotion would always be wiped away with a joke, and questions avoided, and it was all he could do to offer his silent company when it all overflowed and Mercutio needed him, but they’d never talk about it. And if he’d seen anything between Mercutio and Tybalt, he always saw it as the animosity of two men ready to fight, for anything, for life, or family, or honour, provided they could forget, for a time, in the adrenaline and the sweat, the pain and the emptiness, the meaninglessness of it all. But now he also saw it as the struggle of two men for whom it was the only way they could ever be together, the desperation in every match, in every hit, and the thought that perhaps if they pretended hard enough that they hated each other, it would become true.

And Benvolio couldn’t repress the tears – nor the smile behind it at the thought that Mercutio, whom he could never really help, might have been happy, even for a little while.

 

Months later twins would be born, and the happy couple would inform the old Nurse, with tears in her eyes, that the little girl would bear the name of one she had nursed long ago, whose brave heart and tragic story brought them peace. They would call the little boy Mercutio, and forever after woe the day, for he would grow as witty and intrepid as his namesake. And they would curse, and they would chide, but Benvolio would always remember his old friend and their antics, and Rosaline how much her brother had loved him.


End file.
